


Past Imperfect

by Suzelle



Series: Prove Your Body Wrong [5]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (2008), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Aunt-Niece Relationship, Bruce Banner Feels, Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Female Bruce Banner, Female Clint Barton, Femslash, Gen, Hulk-sized baggage, Reconciliation, References to Abortion, References to Child Abuse, References to Domestic Violence, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not much left in this world that can take Brooke Banner by surprise. But her aunt getting back in touch with her just might do the trick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

> This is the latest installment in my Rule-63 Avengers series. Not necessary to have read the others first, though this one operates as a pretty direct sequel to [Put All Your Words Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/595437). No Archive warnings apply, but please do heed the tags. 
> 
> A thousand thanks and more to my friends who read and beta'd this story at various stages: [zopyrus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zopyrus), Cairistiona, and [salvage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/salvage). You all made it far better than it was at the start.

_Anger is just love_  
 _Left out, gone to vinegar_  
-Dessa, "The Crow"

***

Brooke still isn’t quite used to the idea of waking up next to someone else in her bed, but she can’t say that she has very many problems with it. Particularly when that someone is Claire. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Claire smiles, pushing her hair back out of her eyes, “have fun last night?”

Brooke shoots her a mischievous grin. 

“I did,” she says, “Afterparty was better though.”

Claire lets out a self-satisfied snort. 

“You know, I’m surprised,” she says wryly, “Stark actually kept her word about a low-key party.”

Brooke snorts and raises an eyebrow at Claire. “That was your idea of a low-key party?”

“Well, not by normal-person standards,” Claire concedes, “But for Stark? That was pretty darn impressive.” 

Brooke leans back against the pillows and shakes her head. Toni’d had them all up to the penthouse with a fully catered spread of Indian food, along with an impressive mix of alcohol and some DJ she’d known from back in the day. But the guest list hadn’t topped twenty, and they’d all been people Brooke knew. Truthfully, Brooke was pleasantly surprised by how many people  _had_ shown up—that these people she’s been thrown together with for the past ten months truly did count her as more than just a co-worker or team member. Her friends, now. 

“And hey,” Claire says, “Thanks for asking Nikita and Phil along. I know they’re not your favorites or anything like that, but…I was glad to have ‘em there. And I think they were glad to come along.”

Brooke smiles. 

“Nah, it was good to see them,” she says, “I need to get to know them all better. I still never really bother to see anyone from SHIELD outside of work…”

Claire gives her a positively  _evil_  look, and she grins again.

“Well,” she amends, “almost anyone.”

She rolls over to pick up the laptop sitting on the bedside table and flips it open on her stomach to check her email. 

“Can’t take a break for one day, can ya?” Claire teases.

“If Stark’s sent me some stupid viral birthday card, I’d rather get it over with now than later,” she shoots back. Claire laughs as Brooke skims her inbox. A ton of things from Toni, some business emails, but then…

She blinks once at the email address listed at the top of the inbox and sits upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and leaning forward to stare at the screen.

**From:**[jrobertson27@aol.com  
](mailto:jrobertson27@aol.com) **To:**[bbanner@shield.gov](mailto:bbanner@shield.gov)  
 **Subject:** (no subject)

_Dear Brooke,_

_You don’t even want to know what hoops I had to jump through to even get access to this email address. Gotta give me some credit for resourcefulness—Danny still had the business card of the SHIELD agent who came snooping around here all those years ago. Coulson, or something.  She said she couldn’t even promise that you check this account regularly, so here’s hoping you do._

_Your birthday’s tomorrow, and I’ve been thinking of you—kind of hard to miss these days, which still takes some getting used to. When the accident happened the government wouldn’t so much as tell me if you were alive or dead, but now suddenly you’re all over the news, as much as you try to hide. Other people may not recognize you when you’re not…whatever you turn into…but I’ve seen you flitting behind Toni Stark in the PR shots._ Toni Stark _, of all the people. Is she as much a pain in the ass as the tabloids make her out to be?_

_I don’t know what’s happened to you, Brooke, these last few years, but reading between the lines of the media it seems you’ve been through hell and back. And…I don’t know, kid, I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again, and all I could think of was all the things I never made right with you, everything I tried to tell you over the years but never could. And then I saw those news reports, New York going up in flames and you right in the middle of it, but then, after…you made it through, you’re living in the open again, there aren’t any goons knocking on my door demanding I give them info on you. Call me crazy, but it feels like a second chance. If you’re up for second chances at this point in your life._

_So, anyway. Happy birthday. I’d like to hear your voice, one of these days._

_Love,  
Your aunt Jen_

There’s a phone number listed below the signature, and Brooke can’t help but continue to stare at it. Claire notices she’s gone silent, and slides over to her side of the bed, draping an arm over her shoulders. 

“What’s the damage?” she asks. Brooke nods at the laptop. 

“You can read it, if you want,” she says. Her throat suddenly feels dry. 

Claire skims the email and lets out a low whistle. 

“Thought you didn’t keep in touch with any of your family,” she says.

“I don’t,” Brooke says, not taking her eyes off the computer screen, “I haven’t spoken to my aunt in…god, it’s gotta be close to ten years now. Not since before…before everything else that’s happened.”

She has to fight to keep her voice steady, she realizes, and could kick herself for all the old emotions this stirs up, even now. She used to be so much better about tamping this shit down, but now…

She feels Claire begin to run her hands up and down her shoulders, thumbs circling her back in reassuring circles. 

“You gonna be okay?” she asks, and Brooke sighs, leaning back into her touch. 

“Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, I’ll be good. I guess, though…” she shakes her head, running a hand through her hair, “I guess I gotta make a phone call.” 

***

Brooke avoids people for a couple days after that, not quite sure how to process the emotions that have come suddenly flooding back, things she thought she’d dealt with but were clearly only just lurking beneath the surface. In some ways she feels like she’s fifteen years old again—she supposes the sound of her aunt’s voice was always going to do that to her, no matter how far she tries to run from it. Jen had cried on the phone and Brooke’s fingernails had dug into her palms at the sound. Growing up she’d seen her aunt punch a man on four shots of whiskey, she’d seen her scream herself hoarse, face set with rage, but in all the years of living with her she’d never once seen her aunt cry.

If she’d talked to Toni about it, Brooke supposes she’d say people get soft in their old age.  

Claire seems to sense she needs some breathing room and clears out after her birthday. She claims SHIELD’s got a mission for her but Brooke wonders how much truth there is to that. Either way, she’s grateful for the space, the chance to try and parse out her own swirling thoughts before she settles down on anything. Toni employs the usual amount of talking-about-nothing in the lab that washes over Brooke in its own comforting way, and she doesn’t press it when Brooke retreats to her room and flips idly through her paper subscriptions of National Geographic and sinks back into some old meditation habits she hadn’t needed in years. 

But when Stella comes up to her apartment with donuts, coffee, and a sympathetic look, Brooke knows her respite’s over. 

“Haven’t seen you since the party on Saturday,” she says as she pushes the coffee over towards Brooke. “Everything okay?” 

Brooke sighs. “Who told you, Stella?” she asks. 

Stella gives a slight grimace, a guilty expression on her face. 

“Toni did,” she says, “Well, I heard her talking to Claire about it, and I kind of figured out the rest.” 

“Is nothing secret in this town,” Brooke mutters, but there’s no real malice behind it. She should have known the minute she told Toni it’d be all over the Tower and SHIELD besides. 

“For what it’s worth, Claire was telling Toni it’s none of her damn business,” Stella offers, “And, who knows, maybe she’s right, so…if you don’t wanna talk about it we don’t have to. But I thought I could at least come by and keep you company for a bit.”

Brooke smiles. There are times when Stella’s pure… _genuineness_  never fails to surprise her. There’s not really a better way to put it. 

“Thanks, Cap,” she says, “It’s like I told Claire, I’ll be okay. It’s just…” she grabs the coffee with both hands and gently blows the steam away, “I dunno, there are some doors I thought I closed a long time ago.”

Stella nods and Brooke starts to pick apart the donut in front of her, tracing patterns in the sugar that’s fallen onto her plate. She knows she’s doing the thing Toni’s grown fond of calling “Banner-brooding,” but as much as she knows Stella wants to talk to her, there’s just not anything she really knows how to  _say_. 

Brooke’s never pretended that she fully exorcised her past, never thought she’d completely done away with the pain of her childhood and the years after her mother’s death. But she’d straightened some things out, those years before the accident, opened up to Bobby Ross in a relationship that was as much catharsis as it was romance. Then the Other One had come along and whatever remaining family issues she’d had had suddenly become irrelevant. Irrelevant, redundant, and the last thing she could afford to dwell on when she was trying to stay one step ahead of five different military agencies. Brooke knows she’s not exaggerating when she says she’s gone years without thinking about her aunt, years without picturing the town she grew up in or the mental hospital where her father died or what her mother’s face looked like. So many other things had gone wrong in her life, there’d never been reason to dredge all of that up on top of everything. Until now.

God, she was going to kill Coulson. 

“The last time I saw her,” Brooke says at last, “we fought like hell. My father was dying, so neither of us were in a very good place, and she…she couldn’t deal with it, I couldn’t deal with it, so instead we brought out all our old baggage. And she just…couldn’t be there for me. She wanted to, but she didn’t know how. Never did.

“And we both sort of figured out, after that,” she continues, “it was too much for us both to deal with. Neither of us wanted to revisit anything from the past, and we didn’t have enough to move forward on. So, finished my PhD, sent her the requisite Christmas cards, but I…” she shakes her head, “that email from her was  _not_  what I was expected in the form of a birthday present.” 

“Well, no birthday’s good without a couple of surprises,” Stella gives her an encouraging smile and Brooke snorts. 

“But you talked to her, right?” she asks, “It was good?”

Brooke shrugs. 

“I don’t even know how you’d define ‘good,’ here,” she replies. “She…wants to see me? Or, she wants us to see each other. But that means me goin’ out there, because she sure as hell isn’t coming to New York.”

“And you don’t wanna do that?” Stella asks.

“God, Stella, I don’t know,” Brooke says, exasperated, but immediately lowers her voice. “I don’t know. There’s just…there are some days where I still feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water, you know? Feeling like I’ve built a house of cards and everything’s gonna come crashing under me. And I can’t…I don’t know if I can go all the way out to the Midwest and face this. On top of the rest of my life.” 

“Okay, first of all, everything is  _not_  gonna come crashing under you,” Stella says firmly, “and second, who says you have to do it alone? What if you got someone to go with you?”  

“Who the hell is gonna go with me down  _that_  memory lane,” Brooke retorts, “no one else needs to be subjected to my messed-up family history. Especially not around here.” 

“Claire would do it,” Stella says stubbornly, “you  _know_  she would, if you asked. Isn’t that the point of the whole…whatever it is you two are doing?” 

“I guess.” Brooke stares back down at her plate, thinking back nearly thirty years to when she’d gone to hide out at Danny’s house for the night. He’d gotten her donuts then, too, and she wonders if it’s some way the universe has of looking out for her, that she’s handed mounds of sugar every time she’s forced to deal with her family. 

She lets out a little laugh and shakes her head as she remembers what he’d told her that night, and Stella shoots her an inquisitive look.

“What is it?” 

“Just something someone said to me once,” she murmurs.  “ _You’re all she’s got left, too.”_

***

“ _You could be the king but watch the queen conquer,”_  Claire sings along to Nicki Minaj blasting as they pass the state line into Ohio, “ _First things first I’ll eat your brains._..”

“You know, Romanov warned me about this,” Brooke says, “goin’ on the road with you. Told me I’d be subjected to more tone-deaf nonsense than I ever would at one of Toni’s karaoke nights.”

“Tone-deaf??” Claire objects indignantly, “Come on, I’m not  _that_  bad.” 

Brooke nods in assent—she’s been around Toni in the lab enough times to know the situation could be far worse. 

“But see,” she says, “ _I_ told him you’d be considerate of the sensitive nature of this trip and not subject me to terrible music while we were on the road…”

“Not when I’m drivin’, baby,” Claire grins and Brooke rolls her yes. “ _And if I’m fake, I ain’t notice cuz my money ain’t…”_

They’d both elected to take a road trip instead of fly—if nothing else, Brooke’s glad to have an excuse to spend a couple of extra days with just Claire, and there’s still something soothing to her about long car rides through miles of flatland. They alternate between easy chatter and comfortable silence, and Claire points out all the places she’d stopped when she was with the circus growing up as they drive through Ohio. It’s nice to realize that the two of them have some vague shared history in this, its own way, the same nostalgic fondness for the Midwest that comes of growing up there and wanting nothing more but to leave it. 

Brooke leans her head against the window as they exit onto I-90W. The sun’s already started to sink on the left, and she can just barely see the Chicago skyline in the distance, already dark against the sun streaming through the windows. Her stomach knots in spite of itself, thinking of that first trip she and her aunt had made to Chicago, and she drums her fingers lightly against the armrest of the car door. 

“I still don’t know,” she says suddenly, and Claire turns down the music, “Am I right, doing this? I keep feelin’ like it’s just gonna send me back into a tailspin. And the world…doesn’t exactly need a tailspin from me at this point. Or ever again, really.”

Claire shakes her head, her eyes steady on the road.

“I’m not that one you wanna be asking that question, Brooke,” she says, “I mean, it’s pretty clear I’m not exactly a success story in the family department myself.”

“No,” Brooke says thoughtfully, “No, that’s why you’re exactly the person I want to be asking. That, and I trust you. I thought you knew that part of it.”  

Claire laughs. 

“No, I do,” she says, “And honestly, when this first came up for you all I wanted to say was to tell you to fuck it. Your family’s caused you nothing but pain, anyone can see that. And after a certain point, you…earn the right to turn your back on it all. No matter what they come cryin’ to you with. But…”

Brooke thinks she’s going to say more but she trails off, contemplative. 

“…But?” she supplies. 

“But then I thought about my sister,” Claire finishes, “My fucked-up sister who’s probably still doin’ time for that last big stunt she pulled, even though SHIELD offered her a deal for it. And I thought…if Bethany’d come to  _me_ , after all this time, told me she knew how she screwed it all up and she wanted a second chance…”

She shrugs. 

“I dunno. I dunno if I’d be able to pass that up. I mean, it’s not ever gonna happen,” she lets out another laugh, bitter this time, “but if it  _did_ …I’d have to give it a shot. Otherwise I’d spend the rest of my life wonderin’ about the could-have-beens.”

Brooke gives a slow nod but doesn’t answer, and leans back against the window watching the skyscrapers fade back into the horizon. Claire turns the music back up and fiddles with the iPod that’s plugged into the car speakers. Brooke lets the music wash over her as she starts to doze off, content for now that Claire, at least, thinks she's making the right decision.

***

The next morning Brooke and Claire pull up into the driveway but stop short at the front porch, Brooke shifting her weight from one foot to the next. 

“You been watching Gilmore Girls with the Cap?” Brooke asks absently, staring at the doorway. 

“Pssht, no,” Claire scoffs, “Why?”

“Aah, never mind,” Brooke says, “Just thinking about a scene from there. Though I guess I’m glad I have Jen for an aunt rather than Emily Gilmore…” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t wanna know,” Claire says, “And we’ve been standing here for two minutes. If you’re not gonna ring it I’ll do it myself.” 

“No, I’ll do it,” Brooke says hastily.  _I am a grown woman, I have a PhD in biochemistry and could have gotten one in physics besides…_

She jams her finger into the doorbell, harder than necessary, and hears a “ _Just a minute!”_  deep from within the house. 

Claire looks at Brooke curiously. “Did you tell her you were coming?”

“Emailed her the day before we left,” Brooke shrugs, “I’m assuming that’s enough notice, right?”

Claire rolls her eyes before Brooke hears a familiar snappish voice from just behind the door. 

“No,  _you_  listen. I’ve been handing my ass to you for twenty years straight, if you think for one  _minute_ …”

The door flies open and Jen stops short as she sees Brooke. Her jaw drops open.

“Hey, look, I’m going to have call you back,” she says, dazed, before putting the phone back into her pocket and staring back at Brooke. 

“Never gonna fail to show up here without giving me a heart attack, are you?”

“You didn’t get my email?” Brooke asks.

“No, no I did,” Jen says, her face still. “I just…I didn’t think you’d actually…”

“Well, I wasn't sure," Brooke quips, “There's a lot more of me than there used to be, and I know I was tough enough to deal with beforehand...”

“Oh, shut up,” Jen says, “did you actually think I’d have gotten in touch with you if I didn’t want you to come?”

Brooke starts to say something, but can’t finish for the fact that her aunt's pulled her into one of those real, bone-cracking Jen-hugs that Brooke can only remember receiving a handful of times in her life.

“Christ, it’s good to see you,” she murmurs into Brooke’s ear, “it’s so good to see you.”

Jen invites her into the living room and Brooke and Claire both follow, though Brooke can’t tell if she’s even noticed Claire’s presence yet. She can’t stop staring at her aunt, struck suddenly by how much time has passed since the last time she stepped into this house. Brooke knows Jen’s got to be pushing seventy by this point, but it’s still a shock to see how…worn she looks. As a child Jen had always seemed ageless to Brooke, and she’d left home too early for that image to ever really fade away. The last time she’d seen her she was still dying her hair black, but the grey’s grown completely in now, and her hair’s cropped short in the fashionable sort of pixie cut her generation shouldn’t be able to pull off. Her face has twice as many lines as it had before, and she walks with a limp now that she didn’t used to have.

“And don’t you start with the small talk,” Jen says as they pass into the kitchen, “I know every bit of remodeling I’ve done to the place since the last time you were here, I don’t need to be reminded of it.” 

Brooke can’t help but bristle at her words and forces herself to calm down, knowing she can’t afford to get this started on the wrong foot. 

“Okay,” she replies, “what  _do_  you want me to talk about, then?”

“Well, for starters, I guess… how does this all work now?” she says finally, “I know I said I wouldn’t pry, but I gotta tell you, Brooke, it’s a big difference between thinking you’re on the run, or dead, and suddenly you’ve got a government email address. What the hell  _happened_ to you?”

Brooke sighs. 

“It’s…god, it’s a long story,” she answers, “And I don’t know how much of it you’ve already got. Would you believe me if I said that I’ve got a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on? That the government thought I’d destroy the world but I actually wound up saving it, so they’re okay with me now?”

Jen purses her lips. 

“Okay,” she nods slowly, “So the mad scientist rumors actually had a grain of truth to them.”

Claire lets out a little snort beside her, and Jen turns abruptly to face her. 

“And who the hell are you?” she asks, gesturing toward her combatively.

“Claire Barton, ma’am,” Claire says, her face carefully neutral. She holds her hand out, but Jen doesn’t take it. “Good to meet you.” 

Jen eyes her suspiciously. 

“So what’s this?” she demands of Brooke, “you have to have Strategic Whatsit agents following you everywhere you go now?”

“No,” Brooke says, suddenly defensive. “Well, yes, Claire’s a SHIELD agent, technically, but that’s not why she’s here.”

“Oh?” Jen raises her eyebrows.

“No,” Brooke says, “She and I…well, we…” she trails off, at a loss for words. She and Claire still haven’t quite put a label on their relationship yet, and she certainly isn’t prepared to do that while coming out to her aunt at the same time. 

“We’re sleeping together,” Claire cuts in, and Brooke can’t stop herself from burying her face in her hand. “So I’m about as off-duty as you can get.”

“ _Ah._ ” Jen’s eyebrows climb even higher, and she gives Claire an additional once-over before turning back to Brooke. “Well, that explains why you never tried to sneak any boys into the house when you were in high school…” 

“Oh for crying out loud,” Brooke mutters, but Claire laughs. 

“She was the same way, huh?” she says, before grinning back at Brooke, “It drove my sister crazy, too. She’d had, like, five pregnancy scares by the time she was nineteen, never understood why I never tried to sneak guys in behind Trick’s back.” 

“You have no idea,” Jen nods, “closest thing to a guy we ever had around here was her lab partner, and then all I’d hear was shouting about Einstein’s theory of relativity…”

“I did have a boyfriend, you know,” Brooke objects indignantly.

“Yeah, but you don’t now, sweetie,” Claire gives her an encouraging squeeze before holding her hand out again to Jen. 

“I am a part of SHIELD, ma’am,” she says, her voice serious now, “but I swear that my interest in being here—and with Brooke—is purely personal. So. We gonna be okay here?” 

Jen gives her a last long look, before holding her own hand out to shake Claire’s. 

“Sure, Agent Barton,” she says, “sure, we’re good.” 

Her cell phone buzzes from her jeans pocket and she sighs, pulling it out of her pocket and grimacing at the caller id.

“Look, I’m gonna have to call this asshole back,” she says to Brooke, “and, long-lost niece in town or not, I’m probably gonna have to go into the office for the afternoon. You two can hang out here if you want, or you can show Claire around town. But you wanna come back here for dinner tonight? I swear to you my cooking’s improved since the last time you tried it.” 

***

"'We're sleeping together?'" Brooke echoes sardonically, " _Seriously_?"

"I had to tell her  _something_ ," Claire smirks as she steals the sugar bowl from Brooke, "seeing as how you clearly weren’t gonna."

They're in a coffee shop, one of those cutesy hipster ones that definitely wasn’t there the last time Brooke was in town. Brooke had thought for a minute about taking them to the diner Jen used to work at, thinking Claire might get a kick out of seeing the place she'd spent so much of her childhood at, but thought better of it in the end. She glanced over at it surreptitiously as they drove past, glad in spite of herself that it had survived into the 21st century, but didn't object when Claire suggested this place instead.

"Cut me some slack," Brooke says, "She caught me off guard. I didn't think she was gonna ask about it."

"Showin' up, just the two of us, and you didn't think she'd have anything to say about it?" Claire asks.

"I know, I guess...with everything else, it wasn't something I thought of."

"Nobel-prize winner Dr. Banner, ladies and gents," Claire grins teasingly, but there's fondness behind her eyes that Brooke doesn't miss. "So wrapped up in the big picture you still can't catch what's right under your nose, can ya?"

"You're not wrong there," Brooke sighs, "She always used to say that, too. Head so far up in the clouds of theoretical physics I couldn't keep track of reality."

"Come on, I wouldn't go that far," Claire holds her hands up in protest, "you're pretty grounded in reality. Usually."

"Still workin' on that with the Other One, huh?"

"Hey, we're gettin' there," Claire says, "I think she gets now that we can't  _actually_  take home every cute kitty she finds in the street."

Brooke laughs, imagining how that conversation must have gone with her alter ego. Somehow--and she supposes it's not too surprising--Claire's the best one at keeping her in check, better sometimes even than Toni.

"I'm glad she was okay with us, though," Brooke says, "Jen, I mean. It was never something we ever came close to talking about when I was a kid, but...guess it's not too much of a surprise that she's running with it."

"Yeah, she seems alright," Claire says, "I mean, I can totally see how you two didn't get along, but...she seems all right."

"Never said she was a bad person," Brooke says absently as the waitress hands them their sandwiches. She thanks her and fiddles with the brightly-colored wrapping of the toothpick sticking out of it. "I know she did her best with what she had. But, still...you take away the bad blood and there's still nothing between us. Can't even talk about my work at the lab without getting her hackles raised."

"You don't know that," Claire says, "She's the one who wants to make this work, right? You might be surprised."

Brooke shrugs.

"I'm not expecting fifteen years to have changed  _that_  much," she replies, thinking more but not saying it. It took her a long time growing up to realize that the thing Jen hated the most was reminders of Brooke's father, and it took her even longer to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't spend her life trying to outrun her father's ghosts. All of Brooke's ambition, her talents in chemistry, her very co-existence with the Other One--she's Brian Banner's daughter in more ways than she'd ever admit to anyone, but somewhere along the line she made her peace with that. But she has serious doubts about Jen's ability to ever accept it.

"You've seen her all of ten minutes," Claire says around a bite of turkey club, "Give it a bit of time, huh? Who knows how this'll turn out."

"All I'm sayin' is that you should probably be prepared for a hell of a lotta uncomfortable silences at dinner tonight."

"It's fine, Brooke," Claire says, "worst comes to worst and the dinner-conversation goes dead, I'll break out the vodka Nikita stuffed into the trunk. One way or another we'll get a party outta this."

Brooke laughs as she steals a french fry back from Claire. Somehow she shouldn’t be surprised that that’s Nikita’s way of looking out for her.

_***_

They arrive back at the house a few minutes before Jen arrives. Brooke’s long since lost her keys to the front door, so they sit together on the front steps, Claire’s head pillowed in her lap, until Jen drives up and comes out with a couple of grocery bags.

“Neither of you are vegetarian, right?” she asks. Brooke and Claire both shake their heads. “Good, because I don’t have the patience for that crap. And you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this new marinade I found last year…”

Jen gives them each a bottle of beer and then shoos them out of the kitchen. Claire’s intrigued by Jen’s record collection and amuses herself by thumbing through the shelves, but Brooke’s seen it all before—there’s not much of the living room that’s really changed since she left. She wanders back toward the kitchen and pokes her head through the door, where Jen’s busy mixing together ingredients in a bowl. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help with?” she asks.

“Well, if you’re offering, there are some green beans that can be chopped,” Jen says, “you remember where the knives are?”

“Second drawer, right?” Brooke replies. It’s strange to her what she remembers and what she doesn’t about this place—she couldn’t have told you what color the walls of her old bedroom were, but she remembers where all the kitchen things are, and that Jen’s record player never actually worked anyway. She wonders if she’s gotten a new one or if Claire’s going to find herself sadly disappointed.

“So...is there anyone you’re seeing right now?” Brooke asks, trying to think of things she can use to keep the conversation going that don’t fall under Jen’s classification of “small talk.”

“Nah,” Jen replies, “There was a guy a few years back, off and on, but…I don’t know, ever since things fell apart with Danny I’ve felt like I used up all my chances…anytime I got close to someone after that, couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t worth the hardship.”

“Makes enough sense, I guess,” Brooke replies, wishing she knew what more to say. She runs the bag of green beans under the water, hoping the sound of the faucet will fill the awkward silence. 

“She seems like a good find,” Jen says, jerking her head back toward the living room, “you gonna be doing much more than sleeping with her anytime soon? She someone you'd wanna start a family with, anything like that?"

Brooke snorts and shakes her head.

"Can you see me with kids, Aunt Jen?" she asks, "It wouldn't end well."

"I don't know about that," Jen says, "After all, your mom was…well, you seem like you'd take more after her than me in the parenting department, at least."

Brooke blinks, taken aback. She doesn't quite know how to respond to that one.

“It's not something we've talked about much, if at all," she finally replies, "We're still finding our way. It's only been a few months, really, and we're not sure where it's going. But...we're happy with the way things are. If that’s worth anything.”

“No, it is. That's about as far as I ever got with anyone--glad to see I had an influence on you in some way,” Jen gives her a wry smile that Brooke can’t quite return, and she gives a half-hearted shrug before she turns her attention back to the green beans.

“So, you and Agent…Barton, was it? How did you two meet, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jen asks as she pre-heats the oven, “What, did they set up a dating service for spies and superheroes and whoever the hell else Stark keeps in that tower?”

It’s a harmless enough question, but enough sarcasm threads through her voice that Brooke chops the next two green beans harder than necessary as she answers.

“We met in New York,” she says, “well, mostly afterwards, but yeah, she was at the battle. And we’re both doing work on the Avenger Initiative, her mostly with SHIELD, but…we got a chance to get to know each other."

“So what, you work for them now?” Jen says, “Gonna trust the same people who wanted you dead for whatever science experiment you had that went wrong?”’

Brooke tries to take a deep breath, rein in her irritation, but—

“Christ, are you just, never happy unless you’re antagonizing someone?” It slips out before she has a chance to stop herself. It’s a teenager’s retort and she knows it, but she didn’t come all this way just to deal with the same old unnecessary crap from her aunt.  _Can’t even go half a day without it coming back_ , she thinks…

“Look, I'm sorry, but I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” she continues, “Do I still hold them at an arms length? Yeah. They took a lotta years of my life from me that I’d rather have back. And government lies are half the reason this all happened in the first place. But they weren’t the branch of government that was after my blood, and they’re the only reason the military  _hasn’t_  strung me up in some lab for the past five years. Do you get that? Do you get that they’re the only reason I can even  _be_  here now?”

“No,” Jen snaps, “No, I don’t get it, because in all the years since I saw that explosion on the news no one would fucking tell me what  _happened_. I still don’t understand what makes you grow twice in size and smash cities into oblivion, I’ve only even known for sure you were  _alive_ since they linked your name to the Hulk after the Manhattan attack, and I…” she shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“No, say it,” Brooke has to keep herself from slamming her knife down on the cutting board as she turns back to face Jen, “Whatever it is, it’s clearly what you wanted me to come a thousand miles for, so just  _say_ it.” 

Jen sighs and leans back against the kitchen counter, running a hand through her hair, eyes not quite meeting Brooke’s. 

“You wanna know how many cops came knocking on my door, those weeks after?” she asks, “The FBI, Army, CIA, SHIELD after about five years? And they never bothered to tell me a  _damn_  thing because they thought I was helping you out. They thought, ‘closest next of kin, she’s gotta be hiding her,’ passin’ along money,  _something_. 

“But you never came to me,” she continues, “I never heard a thing from you, and I told ‘em so, tried to make them understand that things were so busted beyond repair in our family that even if you were alive you’d probably never even  _think_  to come to me. 

“And then, after things died down, I thought about it,” she says, “and I thought, how fucked up is that? That you couldn’t even think to call and see if I’d wanna help you out?” 

Brooke lets out a bitter laugh. 

“You—you wanna know why I never came to you? _”_  she asks in a strangled tone, “You wanna know what happened to me, what this  _is?_ Because this—this is you being proven right, after all these years. This is everything my father left me and did to me personified and made whole.” 

The Other One’s stirring in her chest now, woken by some howling grief that Brooke realizes she hasn’t truly felt in years. She feels her throat tighten, but she doesn’t take her eyes off of Jen’s as she continues on. 

“And you know, I’ve figured it out by now. All that anger, all that pain, everything he did to me, everything you  _didn’t_ do? That was what kept me alive, in the end. That’s the reason I’m stuck with Jolly Green instead of dead from a gamma blast, because whatever storm that’d been cooking inside me my whole life catalyzed and turned into a shield. But back then, when it first happened? That wasn’t what was runnin’ through my head.”

“Brooke—” Jen starts, but Brooke cuts her off. 

“No,” she says, her voice rising, “What was running through my head back then was that I’d finally become Brian Banner’s monster. Worse, even, because it wasn’t just the people I loved who I nearly destroyed, it was dozens of bystanders, too. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. It was like you said—carbon copy of him, through and through. So then, what was I supposed to do, huh? Come back to  _you?_ So you could tell me how right you’d been all along?”

She knows she must have escalated to yelling by now, but she can’t seem to stop herself. She can feel her heart pounding, knowing she’s close to the edge, and she catches Claire out of the corner of her eye, hovering in the kitchen doorway. She tilts her head in concern, but the sight of her helps to bring Brooke back to herself. She takes a deep breath, gives the slightest flick of her hand, and Claire’s face vanishes from the doorway. 

“So you’ll forgive me if you weren’t my first choice of refuge,” she says to Jen, “And we’re not even getting _into_  the fact that the last time I asked you for help, you refused point-blank.”

There’s a pause that stretches for far longer than it should before Jen lets out a long breath.

“Well,” she says, “How long have you been waiting to say all of  _that?”_

“Not very long,” Brooke replies, wondering if she’s lying to herself, “Never really wanted the chance to say it, honestly.”

Jen shoots her a knowing look before folding her arms tightly against herself. 

“You know,” she says, “There are a thousand excuses I’ve made for myself over the years. I’ve told myself how impossible it was to get over my sister’s death while trying to raise her kid, I’ve told myself there was only so much I could sacrifice, but…there’s nothing I can say to you, Brooke. There’s no excuse I have that isn’t full of crap. I should have been there for you when your father died, but I can’t even say that’s my biggest mistake where you’re concerned. I can’t defend myself for all the ways I screwed up raising you, can’t say I did right by you and keep my conscience clean...”

Her voice breaks and her eyes fill with tears, and Brooke wonders for a moment if the Other One will burst out just from sorrow. 

“So, I’m not asking you to forgive me,” she says thickly, “I’m not asking, because I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it. What I’m  _asking_  is—can you and I move forward from all of this? Can you accept that I still care about you? That family should mean more to us than it does?

She points toward the living room. “Cos if you can’t, the door’s right there and you should walk out now. I don’t have anything else to offer you. But if you can…”

Brooke stares at her aunt, struggling to find words, any at all, before the timer to the oven beeps loudly. They both jump, and Jen swipes harshly at her eyes as Brooke glances down at the floor. 

“Guess we should work on getting dinner ready,” Brooke mutters. 

“Um, hate to break it to you kids,” Claire says, poking her head back in the kitchen doorway, “but I think the cat beat you to it.”

They both whirl toward the steak sitting on the counter, only to find Jen’s cat standing the countertop, nibbling at the steaks that Jen had set out to marinate. 

“Oh, for  _Christ’s_  sake,” Jen snarls as she starts toward the cat, “I swear I should have taken you straight to the pound…”

She pushes the cat unceremoniously onto the floor as it lets out a yelp, and examines the meat with a sigh.

“So much for that,” she says, “guess I should have figured this would end in a disaster.”   

“Time for a Plan B?” Claire offers, “We could make it a night on the town…what is there to do around here, anyway?” 

“Nothing,” Jen and Brooke chorus together, and both laugh nervously as they look at each other in surprise. 

“Well, Yelp’s never failed me yet, even in a podunk town like this,” Claire says, “There’s gotta be some good restaurants or bars, right?”

“Bars, yes, restaurants, no,” Jen says, “There’s an okay pizza place near a bar I like, but it’s nothin’ special…”

“No, let’s do that,” Brooke breaks in, relieved to be talking logistics again, “Then maybe we could go out to the bar after?”

“Sounds as good a plan as any,” Jen says. “Just let me put all this stuff away first.” 

Brooke nods, and brushes quickly past Claire to go get her coat from the closet, but before she can head back into the kitchen, Claire finds her in the hallway and gathers her up in a hug. Brooke squeezes Claire tightly against her and lets out a long, shuddering sigh.  

“We stayin’?” she murmurs in Brooke’s ear. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, leaning her head on Claire’s shoulder, “yeah, we’re stayin.’” 

***

Dinner’s a comparatively peaceful affair, with Brooke mostly sitting back in silence as Jen and Claire dominate the conversation. They’ve got enough in common to talk music and movies through the whole meal, and once they start a spirited debate about just when  _The Office_ started going downhill, it’s easy for Brooke to check out and simply reflect in the good fortune that at least two out of the three of them can get along easily. 

“So,” she finally breaks in to ask at one point, as Claire starts singing some song about single ladies and Jen threatens to leave the table, “just how much pop culture did I miss while I was out of the country?”

They both look at Brooke in brief confusion before bursting into laughter.  

“I tell you every time you ask, darlin’,” Claire pats her on the arm, “Too much.”

“And not enough,” Jen adds, “I swear to god, the only reason I don’t just retire now is because I know I’d just sit on my ass and get sucked into even more nonsense I don’t need in my life.”

“So that’s not happening anytime soon?” Brooke asks. Jen shakes her head. 

“I don’t think you get the extent to which I run that firm,” she says, “And don’t I wish I was exaggerating. But I’m pretty sure my boss couldn’t make it from his car to the office without me, and it keeps me busy enough. So I’ll be in it for awhile yet. 

Brooke opens her mouth but Jen cuts her off. 

“It’s fine, Brooke,” she says, “it’s a damn sight better than what I thought I’d be doing at this stage in my life, and I like having my own little ship to run. There’s a cohort of new assistants who I terrify the bejeezus out of, it’s like I’ve finally found my true calling.” 

Brooke gives a rueful chuckle as Jen turns to Claire. 

“So, speaking of,” she says, “If I’m allowed to ask. What exactly is it you do in this whole operation? You more in the spy or superhero category?” 

“Somewhere in between,” Claire tosses her hair back behind her shoulders, “There’s not much to it. Basically my job is to look pretty and shoot at things.”

“Is it now,” Jen raises an eyebrow, “you a good shot?” 

“I never miss,” Claire grins. 

“Is that so,” Jen says, “You up for a bit of friendly competition once we get to the bar, then?”

“Only if you’re ready to lose,” Claire replies.

“Girl, I’ve been throwin’ darts at this bar for as long as you’ve been around,” she grins, “Probably longer. I never lose.” 

“Okay, tell me now,” Brooke mutters into Claire’s ear as they leave the restaurant, “is it unethical if I put money on you tonight?”

“Nah,” Claire shoots her a mischievous smile, “‘s long as you split the profits with me, it’s all good.” 

The bartender waves at Jen as they walk in, and Claire snags a table near the dartboard as Jen and Brooke head over to the bar. Brooke orders a beer and a shot of whiskey for Claire, and after Jen mirrors her order they bring their drinks back to Claire.  

“Okay,” Jen says, “Best two out of three rounds. You game for raising the stakes?” 

Claire spreads her arms out wide. “Always,” she says. 

“A shot for every third bullseye the other person makes.” 

“You’re diggin’ your own grave, here, old-timer,” Claire shakes her head, “they pay me for this stuff, y’know.”

“I dunno,” Jen lifts her shotglass, “I’ve been told I’m pretty spry for an old woman.”

Claire turns to Brooke. “Gettin’ in on the whiskey, Brooke?” 

“I’ll stick with this for now,” Brooke raises her bottle of Sierra Nevada, “someone’s gotta get us back home tonight, anyway.” 

“Your loss,” Claire shrugs and raises her glass towards Jen. “To good shots?” 

“To good shots,” Jen echoes as they clink glasses and down the whiskey, “let’s get this show on the road.” 

Brooke rolls her eyes as she heads back toward the bar, figuring the least she could do is stock up on the whiskey while the first rounds are going through. Her phone buzzes as she reaches the bar, and she sees Toni’s name as pulls it out of her jeans pocket.

_[Toni Stark 21:20]: How’s it goin?_

_[Brooke Banner 21:20]: Okay._

_[Toni Stark 21:22]: Just ok?_

_[Brooke Banner 21:22]: Better now. Claire and Jen are trying to drink each other under the table._

_[Toni Stark 21:22]: Who’s winning_

_[Brooke Banner 21:22]: Hard to tell at this point._

_[Toni Stark 21:22]: Your aunt’s fair competition for Barton??!? I gotta meet this woman, hot DAMN._

_[Brooke Banner 21:22]: I cannot believe this is happening to me_.

She looks up from her phone as Jen swears loudly enough for the entire bar to hear, and Brooke smiles to herself as she takes another sip of her beer. She probably should have done a better job of warning her aunt what she was getting into, but the show’s simply too good to pass up. 

“Man, I tell ya,” a voice says behind her, “I ain’t seen anyone take old Jenny Robertson to town like that in _years_. She with you? Cos her drinks’re on me for the rest of the night.” 

She laughs as she turns to face an older man with a graying beard and an easy smile. 

“I don’t know if you wanna commit to that, the rate they’re goin’,” she says, “but give me the name and I’ll put ‘em on your tab…” she trails off, eyes narrowing as she gets a better look at the man’s face. 

“… _Danny?”_

“Wondered if you’d recognize me,” he says as his smile widens. "You weren't old enough to be let into bars last time I saw you."

She laughs as she gives him a tight hug that he returns.

"Hoped I'd get a chance to catch ya," he grins, "Jen told me you might be coming around." 

"So you two speak to each other now?" she asks.

"Ah, we made up a long time ago," he waves a hand, "We'd been friends way before we were ever together, and that was more important in the end. Try not to get her together too often with my wife, though--that usually don't end well for me."

"What, they don't get along?"

"No, worse," he says mournfully, "They get along too well. You wanna hear the laundry list of my faults? Sit in on lunch with Jen and Fiona sometime."

Brooke laughs again, and leans back against the bar to watch Claire hit three bullseyes with her eyes closed, and even from across the room catches some choice words from Jen about Claire's lineage.

"Nice to know she's still such a good sport after all these years," she remarks wryly.

"Hey, for Jenny, that  _is_ her bein' a good sport," Danny counters, "And your lady-friend ain't exactly a picture of graceful winning, either."

"Fair enough," Brooke chuckles, as Claire slams a shotglass in front of Jen in triumph, "They do make quite the pair, don't they?" 

"Don't surprise me you'd choose someone like Jenny," Danny says, "you two were always more alike than either of you ever thought."

"Hmm," Brooke says noncommittally, taking another long sip of her beer. She notices him watching her shrewdly, and she makes a point of avoiding his gaze as she watches the two women by the dartboard.

"You're still mad at her, ain't ya?" he asks. She gives a start as she finally turns back to him.

"When did I say I was mad?" she replies indignantly.

He gives her a knowing look. "Didn't have to say a damn thing, kiddo. You've had it written all over ya ever since you walked in here."

"Didn't think I was so easy to read," she replies carefully.

"Maybe not to some," he says, "but I know you, and I know her--she ain't an easy one to forgive. And you've got that same face you had when you were twelve and she'd go off to do something to upset ya."

Brooke sighs. She knows it's pointless to try and deny it to Danny, not when he's seen Jen at her worst and Brooke at her most vulnerable.

"You know, I once told someone that I'm always angry," she says, "And it only took her a couple weeks before she came back to me and asked, 'how do you _live_ like that? How can you live with all that rage?"

"And, y'know, exempting the fact that apparently I'm literally unable to die--don't ask--" she cuts herself off as she sees the look on Danny's face, "but newfound indestructible properties aside, I thought about it. How  _do_  I live like that? How have I always lived like that? Why can't I let it go?"

Danny gives her a long, measuring look before he answers.

"Took me years to forgive Jen," he says, "Took me years to forgive how she treated me, how she blew up when I broke it off. Hell, took  _her_  even longer to forgive  _me._ And neither of us've forgotten any of it—when we fight, and don't think we don't, we hurl the past at each other every damn time. I don't think either of us ever really let it go. But it doesn't stop us from stayin' friends. Doesn't stop us from bein' there for each other."

"So you forgave, even if you didn't forget," Brooke says, "And you both live with it. How the hell did you work  _that_  one out?"

"I dunno, Brooke," he says, "my life's better with her in it than it is without. Guess you gotta decide if it's the same for you."

***

“…Should we wake her up?” Brooke blearily registers the words as her eyes dimly crack open. She’s curled up on Jen’s couch, legs cramped from being scrunched in one place too long, but she’s still too tired to do much to change her position. She closes her eyes again and tries to fall back asleep as she feels Claire’s hand brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. 

“Nah, let her sleep,” she hears Claire say, “‘s been a long day. And there’s no point in us going back to the hotel at this hour, ‘s long as you don’t mind us crashing here.” 

“Guest room’s not set up, but I’ve got a bed,” Jen replies, and she lets out a low chuckle. “How the  _hell_  did we both outlast her? She had what, a beer and a half?” 

“She hasn’t been sleepin’ too well lately,” Claire says, “And anyway, she usually pulls about ten hours a night, if she’s got the chance. It takes a lot outta her, I think, holdin’ everything together. You spend a lotta energy doin’…well, whatever it is she does to keep Lady Hulk from comin’ out at every stubbed toe.” 

“Makes sense, I guess,” Jen says, “It’s like her mom, too. Becca never could stay up for the big parties. I was always the one keepin’ our parents up sneaking in all hours of the night…”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Claire replies, “What else was she like?” 

“What, what was Becca like?” There’s surprise in Jen’s voice, and Brooke has to stop her eyes from flying back open. 

“Yeah," Claire says, "Brooke never talks about her, and I never thought it’d be good of me to ask, but..."

There’s silence for a long time. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever even told Brooke this,” Jen finally says, her voice low, “But I got pregnant when I was sixteen. I’d been seein’ the same guy since the start of summer, snuck him into my bedroom just to stick it to my parents, and I thought I was invincible. I thought nothin’ would ever touch me, that nothin’ we did would ever do me wrong. 

“And then…well, you know how it goes,” she continues, “I kept waitin, kept hopin’ that my period was late, that I’d misjugded the days, all the shit you do. But once I figured it out, I ran through all my options and I panicked. Absolutely panicked. I have never—even now I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. Not even just the thought of having a kid at that age, though that in itself would have been enough. But…you know that old saying, ‘women marry men who remind them of their fathers?’ Banner took after my dad in all the wrong ways. My dad was never as bad, but…you played by his rules if you lived in his house, and he…he’d have killed me before he saw me have a kid under his roof and outta wedlock. Even now I don’t think I’m stretchin’ the truth very far there. 

“I couldn’t tell the guy…Christ, I don’t even think I remember his name now, but I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t know where to go. This was, what, ten, twelve years before Roe v Wade? So, two more days of panicking before I finally told my sister. I didn’t know anyone else I could trust, who’d understand just how truly fucked I was when it came to our father. She held me while I sobbed into her shoulder for an hour, and finally just looked at me and asked ‘what do you want to do?’ And I told her I wanted it out of me.”   

Claire lets out a low whistle. “What happened?”

“She told me she’d take care of it,” Jen answers, “And of course, I didn’t believe her, because who were we kidding? This was my sweet, perfect sister, home from her first year at her perfect college, more innocent at nineteen than I’m pretty sure I was at fourteen. If  _I_ didn’t know where to go for an abortion she sure as hell wasn’t gonna. But three days later, she asked me if I’d meant what I’d said before. Took two seconds’ hesitation before I said yes. And she grabbed the keys, she told our parents we were goin’ to visit some friends of hers from school for a couple of days, and she drove me six hours to a doctor who was willing to do it. And…God, you’d have to have known Becca to really understand what this was. I mean, she was our mother’s daughter, a good Catholic ‘til her dying day. I’m sure she thought this was her greatest sin in life, killing her unborn niece or nephew. But she cared more about looking out for me, about making sure I’d be okay. I still don’t know how she of all people found a relatively safe place for me to go. But she did. And…”

She laughs. “I don’t know, that doesn’t tell you much of what she was like. Except she’d do anything for the people she loved. And I still think that’s what killed her, in the end.

“And Christ, I must still be drunk, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this, but after all that, all we went through together growin’ up...I told myself I’d be there for her, too, y’know? It was easy to feel like you had to be protective of Becca. And after I failed in that, I told myself the least I can do was do right by her kid. And look how well that turned out.” 

There’s silence again, longer this time. 

“I don’t know if Brooke’s told you,” Claire says at last, “But my parents died when I was pretty little, too. And I was young enough that I never got all the details, my sister tried to shield me from most of it, but…it wasn’t like there was a shortage of extended family members around. My mom’s brother, a cousin, they all coulda taken us in. And no one stepped up. No one stepped up, and we got shipped off to a group home for four years before my sister convinced me to run away with her and join the circus.” 

Jen snorts.

“I ain’t lyin’!” Claire protests, “Where else could I have learned to kick your ass in darts the way I did?” 

Jen groans, and Brooke can picture Claire’s smirk in her mind’s eye.

“Point is, Brooke had you,” Claire says, “However badly you might have fucked up, she had you. And that…that means something.” 

“Doesn’t mean much looking back,” Jen says, “Or much looking forward, either.”  

“Look, I know you’ve caused my girl a lot of hurt in her life,” Claire replies, “caused her a lot of hurt, and I should probably hate you for it. But…I dunno, we all do the best we can, don’t we? And you’re both here now.  _She’s_  here, whole, which is more than I think either of us thought she’d get out of this weekend.” 

“‘Your girl,’” Jen huffs, “Hmph. I guess she is that, now.” 

Brooke hears the scraping of chairs against the floor and the running of water in the kitchen sink, and she lets out the breath she’d been holding as she re-adjusts herself on the couch. She tries to fall back asleep, to let the conversation she’d just heard filter through, willing her eyes not to fill with tears, as she hears footsteps back into the living room. She feels a hand run over her cheek and through her hair again, but instead of the Claire’s calloused fingertips it’s shaky, smooth ones that could only be her aunt’s. Brooke has a sudden jolt of memory, decades old, and suddenly she’s eight years old again, waking up from the nightmare that was her father’s hands and her mother’s blood on the pavement, screaming in a bed that wasn’t hers as Jen had rushed into the room and held her, whispered brokenly to her that she was safe.

“No one ever took good enough care of her,” she hears Jen’s abrupt voice, “Whatever you have to say, can’t change the fact no one ever looked after her right, not even that army brat she was dating before all this happened. And, like it or not, that’s your job now, pretty-girl Claire Barton. So, just—do better than me, all right? Don’t screw her over, don’t hurt her. Take care of her. It’s about time someone in this world did.”

***

Brooke blinks as the sunlight hits her face and suppresses a groan as she rolls over, remembering with a scowl how much she'd hated her east-facing window as a teenager. She'd lain awake a long, long time on the couch after Jen and Claire had gone to bed the night before, mind swirling, before she'd finally slipped into the guest room beside Claire. She wonders if Claire'd figured out that this was the room she'd grown up in, though even back then it had never really felt like it belonged to her.

She wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee-maker and absently scratching Jen's cat behind the ears as she jumps up onto the table. Restless still, she gets up and walks back into the living room, heading for the old photos. There's a new one she'd never seen before, of Jen and Brooke's mother on what must have been Jen's final trip to Dayton. Jen's wearing a worried expression behind a forced smile, but somehow her mother manages to look genuinely happy--tired, yes, and haunted a bit, but happy all the same. 

"Early to bed, early to rise, huh?" Jen wraps a bathrobe around herself as she climbs down the stairs. Brooke turns from the mantel to face her.

"Not always," Brooke replies, "Insomnia's been pretty bad lately, though. And you never did put blinds on the windows."

Jen snorts.

"Don't get many guests these days," she says, "never really seemed worth the investment."

She comes up behind Brooke and follows her gaze to the photos on the mantel.

"Only found that one again a few years ago," Jen says, gesturing toward the picture of herself and Brooke's mother, "When I was cleaning out the basement. Pretty sure it's the last time the two of us were ever together..."

"You know, I actually think I remember this," Brooke says, "You coming to visit. Did I take this picture?"

Jen laughs.

"Yeah, you did," she says, "I'd nearly forgotten that. You were reminding me that day why I'd never wanted kids--you were so fascinated with my camera, wanted to know everything about how it worked, wanted to try it for yourself. I wouldn't have let you, if it'd been just me—you couldn’t have been older than what, six? But your mom persuaded me to let you try."

Brooke shrugs. "Didn't turn out that badly, if I do say so myself."

"Nah," Jen says, "Nah, it was good. You were a bright kid even back then. Becca didn't even want me to have the camera out in the first place, though, wanted to wait until your dad came home from work. I convinced her the only photo I wanted was one of the Robertson sisters."

Brooke nods silently, staring back at the photo.

"Can I take this?" She asks, "Or get a copy made or something? I don't think I have any pictures of her anymore...or you, for that matter."

"Sure," Jen says, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, "No problem. I can take it out to Kinko's or something like that, get it framed..."

"That'd be great, if you could," Brooke says, "Thanks."

"No problem," Jen says, and they both lapse back into silence. 

"You know, there are a lotta things I should have told you, when you were a kid," she says, "I was so busy cursing your father's shadow, hating him for all he'd done to her, to you--I never talked to you enough about your mom. And I still don't think I was all wrong in that--it'd have hurt too much for the both of us to be reminded of her too much, I think. But I shoulda told you more of what she was like, how much you remind me of her, sometimes. Or how proud she'd be of you, if she could see you now."

Brooke turns to her aunt, startled. She's got a thousand replies on the tip of her tongue, wonders if she should tell Jen she'd overheard her conversation with Claire the night before...

" _Brooke!_ " She hears Claire's shout before she sees her bound down the stairs, phone in her hand and an exasperated look on her face. "We gotta go, Hulkster. Apparently someone decided to take the weekend to terrorize Florida with killer robots..."

"Oh, come on," Brooke groans, "If that was Fury, you can tell her I'm taking a vacation day and if she's got a problem with that--"

"Nope, it's the Cap," Claire replies, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, "She says to take her word that it's worse than it sounds. Full assembly required, and a specific request for the Hulk."

"Theyknow we're halfway across the country, right?"

"Oh, they know. Quinjet's on its way," she says, "Due to make it out here in twenty minutes or less."

Brooke sighs, before she turns back to Jen.

"I swear, this doesn't happen to us every weekend," she says, "once a month, tops. Usually only once every couple or so..."

Jen shakes her head.

"No, I get it," she says, "At least, I think I do. This is your life, now, isn't it? Saving the world at a moment's notice?"

"Something like that," Brooke says sheepishly, "Though usually I manage to wreck things about as often as I save them."

Jen waves her hand aside dismissively. 

"Then you're no different than anyone else on this planet," she says, "and better than most, I'd imagine."

Brooke starts to protest, but Claire elbows her sharply and she shuts up. Instead she gives a brief nod, and ducks back upstairs to get her things together.

Jen meets them at the bottom of the stairs within ten minutes, holding the door open as she shoves the cat out of the way.

"Don't be a stranger now, all right?" she says, "there's a lot still I want to catch up with you on."

"Don't worry, we won't," Claire breaks in, "can't take the car with us, so we'll be back for that, at least. And I promise there are at least three different types of bar games I've got to kick your ass in."

"Famous last words, little girl," Jen grins as she reaches out to hug Claire, "I expect to see more of you too, Agent Barton."

"Count on it," Claire says as she grabs Brooke's bag and gives her hand a squeeze. "I'm gonna go make sure Nikita doesn't crash into anything and create a whole new lawsuit for us."

Brooke rolls her eyes as Claire heads down the driveway and leans back against the doorway, taking a deep breath before letting it out again. She's lost count at this point how many times she's willingly changed into the Hulk, but she's yet to truly succeed in dispelling the nerves or the dread.

"Is it...painful?" Jen asks, "when you change?"

Brooke gives her a resigned smile.

"Not so much at the onset, unless I'm trying to fight it," she says, "aftermath always hurts like hell, though."

"And you keep doin' it anyway?" she asks incredulously, "Now  _that_  takes a special kind of stupid."

"So people keep telling me," Brooke raises an eyebrow.

"Nah, it's the good kinda stupid," Jen says, "Seems to run in the family, at least."

She hangs back, as though still unsure as to where they stand, and Brooke drops her bag to give her a hug. Jen lets out a sigh and leans in, resting her chin on Brooke’s shoulder.

"She'd be proud of you, and so am I," she whispers, "Keep that in mind when you're smashing things up, all right?"

Brooke smiles as she gives her aunt an extra squeeze.

“I will,” she says, “Something tells me the Hulk will be pretty darn happy to hear that. And I am, too.”

 

 


End file.
